


Colours of Grey

by sebooty



Series: The Pigments of Our Foundation [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Gen, Katniss proves she can be one crafty bitch, Mild Hurt/Comfort, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebooty/pseuds/sebooty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Peeta in the arena, it falls to Katniss to ensure that the love of her life finds his way safely back to her arms. The only problem is asking for help in the right places but at the wrong times could incite a rebellion and put Katniss in the line of fire. Will she be able to see to it that her boy with the bread makes it back to her, or will she buckle under the pretences and stress of being in the Capitol and under constant watch from Panem's trustedly evil dictator?</p>
<p>Sequel to Shades of Blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colours of Grey

I used to see the world in only black and white. There were the good people and the bad, the awful things and the beautiful objects, and ultimately – importantly - darkness and light. I once lived in the light. The period of my life that was so filled with beauty and peace that it was imperceptibly untouchable. My father was present, alive, teaching me to hunt and help in ways that would later save mine and my loved ones lives. Prim was at my side and so loving and trusting that I couldn't not adore her. Even mother was happy.

Then darkness crept in and snubbed out the light.

It started with the mining explosion; the death of my beloved father. My mother spiralled into a semi comatose state and was unreachable. Poor Prim was left alone with only me as her link to the world. She, through her naivety, still exuded happiness. Household burdens fell upon my eleven year old shoulders and through doing so I met the greatest friend of my life and, though unwittingly, my one love. The darkness grew ever stronger as we were taught about the ways of the Capitol and of President Snow in school. Everyone was supposed to fall in line and accept his word as final or pay heed to the punishment, which always happened to be death in some rare form. I couldn't wrap my head around it though, couldn't fathom accepting anything this man said was true.

Then there were the Games. I hated them with so much passion I thought I could open a new pit in Hell. If there was such a place. I never thought I would hate anything more than watching the wretched things that happened inside the arena, but I had been so wrong. Being in the Games were an entirely different matter. It wasn't the fighting or even the nearly dying several times over that traumatised me. No. What fractured the little goodness I still believed in was watching a ruthless murder of a twelve year old girl by the hands of a seventeen year old bloodthirsty monster of a boy and then singing her to sleep. Killing him myself, not out of need or even survival, but for revenge. Then there was the death of my best friend that I not only witnessed, but committed. Not for survival, want, revenge; but out of mercy.

Returning home should have been better.

It wasn't.

I was so far gone in my dark abyss that I couldn't see what I was doing to those around me, couldn't see how my neglect affected my family. My mother, the woman I had once yelled at so hatefully for checking out of this reality because it was too harsh, killed herself because I had done the same. Then there really was just me and Primrose. Sweet, innocent Prim. The Capitol's Peacekeepers took her from me and I realised I would never see her again.

My bittersweet darkness was wrapping so tightly around me that I couldn't see, hear, feel. I couldn't do anything.

Then Peeta came into my world blazing like the sun and shining light on everything once more. He illuminated all the hollowed out dark patches that made no sense. He completed me. It took me years to suss out my feelings, days for them to come to a head, and one kiss for him have me completely, irrevocably captured in his essence. There was no escape and I wasn't looking.

Again, though, the Capitol had to have some form of interference. They're taking away my Peeta, my boy with the bread. Placing him in the arena and forcing him to become a killer, to fight to survive. I knew he would too, if it meant he could come home to me, to my waiting arms. But he would be different, changed. I was, am. I can only hope that he'll be able to resurface and make his way through the haze and back to me. I need him to.

These are the thoughts plaguing me as I lay in bed. My back's pressed against Peeta's surprisingly firm chest and his arms are holding me to him tightly. I can tell by the uneven rise and fall of his chest and the on-again, off-again constriction of his arms that he is as wide awake as I am. We just don't feel like saying anything, we don't need to say anything. We're both content to feel the warmth of each others' skin pressed against skin and inhale the combined mixture of our two very different scents. Peeta has a way, even now where he's miles and miles away from one, of smelling like a bakery and rising dough whereas I always smell like the woods, the scent of trees and pine needles clinging desperately to my body and hair. Together, they create a sweet aura of baking leaves.

We stay wrapped around each other and silent for quite a while, not moving until the neon red numbers of the wall show it is well after three in the morning. Even then, it's the slightest of movements. Peeta's hand moves from around my waist to lackadaisically trace nonsensical patterns on the expanse of my bare thigh that happens to be peeking out of the sheets. His other arm moves so it's pinned beneath my head along with my own as I've refused to let go of him and our fingers are still laced securely.

"I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever," he whispers and I feel his warm breath cascade along my cheekbone, leaving a blazing trail of tingling skin.

I smile into the shadowy light of the room despite knowing he can't really see it. "I know the feeling," I answer honestly.

"Really? Cause I was beginning to think you were getting tired of me already."

"Oh. Well, I can be tired of you if that's what you want, but I was aiming for romantic."

"Stick with that plan, I think I like it better."

I feel the mattress shift and his hands are sliding away from me and making me want to groan out at the loss of contact. Before any protests can try to fall from my lips, however, Peeta is rolling me over and forcing me to look into those gorgeous blue eyes that seem never-ending and have taken on a glowing quality in the dark. The sight of him, naked with his well structured and chiselled chest and those brilliant eyes, seems almost too much. I vaguely wonder if I'm dreaming, if I've fabricated this whole relationship. I find myself shrinking away from the idea, the effects of it leaving almost scarring burns in my mind.

The distracting and delicious feel of Peeta's soft, lush lips slanting over mine forces all stray thoughts of differing realities out of mind and sight and I decide I don't care if this a dream. I don't think it is, there's a nagging feeling in my stomach that says it's real, but even if it were, this is the best my life could get. I trace my hand up and along the smooth flesh of his bare side and weave my fingers into his tousled blond locks, pulling him closer. The groan he emits from the roughness of my actions and the combined feeling of my long nails scraping against his scalp and my leg moving to hitch itself over his hip floods into my throat with a deep vibration. It then travels straight to my core, flooding my body with blindingly blissful heat.

Peeta, both aroused and spurred on by our new positioning, rolls us over so that he's hovering over me with his arms on either side of my head, locking me in the only cage I'll never protest. His eyes bore into my grey ones as he pulls away from my mouth before dipping down to peck the upturned corners of my mouth then slowly descends lower to kiss along the scar that trails the whole of my chest. As he kisses his way back up to my awaiting and pouting lips, his hands slide up my legs and he brings the one I had already moved higher on his hip. In seconds we're sinking into the deep throes of oblivion and ecstasy, the haze of our love blinding us from anything other than each other.

We resurface the next morning, into the dull grey light of a cruel morning, to the sounds of Peeta's prep team. Upon spying us, barely concealed in a mass tangle of sheets and a labyrinth of limbs, they each burst into tears. It's fairly obvious they believe that Peeta will not be returning and that this is the only time for love we have. I silently vow to disprove them.

I'm not modest about leaving the bed, I've been made over by my own prep team more times than I can count and have been naked for each occasion. This, Peeta seems to find, is hilarious because I supposedly seem like a person who would have an aversion to public nudity. I merely explain to him that I do have a distaste and lack of enthusiasm for public nakedness when it comes to others being naked in my presence, but that I have nothing to hide. He laughs at my logic and I give him a shake of my head and a kiss to the nose before disappearing out of his room with my clothes.

Once I find myself alone in the hallway, I immediately make a dash to Haymitch's room. I don't bother knocking - I never do and neither does he - I just let myself in and I'm quite honestly taken back by the sight of him asleep in his bed with one arm languidly laying against the pale form of Effie Trinket. Her wig is gone, thrown to the floor in their hurried madness I would assume, and I see that her natural hair is actually beautiful with its colour of woven straw. Her ridiculous make-up is still in tact, but other than that, it's almost impossible to tell that this the crazed escort the Capitol sent to District 12 every year for the Reaping. What's more startling is the look of sheer, unadulterated peace on Haymitch's face. I've never seen him this way and I know that I could never do anything to disturb them, so I quietly slip out of the room. A small smile curves my lips as I think about what I've just seen.

I decide to go back into my room and prepare myself, but find that once I get there it isn't necessary. Cinna is waiting for me, sitting on my bed. I stare at him for a long moment in confusion and then my eyes take in the fact that he only has a hairbrush in his hands and there's a conspirator's grin illuminating his face.

"I know," he says and then descends upon me.

He doesn't do anything major to me. There's two reasons behind that, I surmise; he's got to get over to Delly so he can prep and ride with her to the Stockyard and he knows that Peeta doesn't want to see me all made up to look like a doll. With that in mind, I marvel at the natural beauty I am in the mirror. Cinna's dressed me in a simple loose fitting yellow sleeveless top that is made of the softest silk I've ever felt and paired it with black running pants that accentuate my frame. My hair is a falling curtain of brown waves that have become permanent indentations due to my usual braid. I look feminine and striking, yet I look like a girl from the Seam of District 12.

"Thank you," I whisper to the eccentric stylist, our eyes locking in the mirror.

He smiles his gentle and reserved smile that has a layer of dubiousness underneath and merely nods. "Anything for my mockingjay." He then presses the token I had worn into the Games last year in my hand, my fingers close around the smooth gold.

I examine it and notice it has been damaged in a few places, but that it gives the pin a certain sentimentality to it. I look up to again thank Cinna and find that he's gone. I frown slightly, but push away the thought of my sneaky design specialist and pad out of the room and down the hall. To where my heart is.

My fist jets out to knock on the door, but I instead find myself pounding away into soft cotton and warmth. Peeking up through my hair, my eyes are met with a grinning Peeta Mellark.

"I was just coming to find you," he says and an affectionate smile draws up his lips as he looks at me.

I try my hardest to keep from looking back at his spectacular face and falling prey to the crushing feeling mounting in my chest as the dawning that this is the last time I will see him for possibly a long while hits me. But Peeta has other plans and his hand creeps under my chin, forcing me to see him. Tears are pricking at the back of my eyes, but I don't want them to fall. I don't want to spend my last bit of time with this beautiful boy with the bread sobbing my soul out. A few escape their confines though and Peeta's thumb is quick to wipe them away, entrapping them inside his calloused skin.

His arms snake around me and he pulls us both further into his room, kicking the door shut behind us. We sink into the edge of his monstrous bed, sitting in each others' arms. I have my face pressed into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, taking deep breaths of his scent to commit to memory. His hands are smoothing back my hair and rubbing down along my spine and it's sending shivers down my body. I hear his voice in my ear, telling me how beautiful I look and how much he loves me. His words almost break me, but somehow I manage to repeat his affections, but the words come out in repetition as though my chanting that I love him will keep him from leaving, from being taken away from me.

We sit like this for an insurmountable amount of time until an Avox informs us there is only ten minutes before he will be collected. I clutch Peeta tighter to me, holding him in a death grip, and pull back slightly to stare into his watery eyes. They remind of the ocean on a clear and sunny day, just waiting to be dove into. I wish I could.

I release my arms from around him and readjust so that I am sitting directly beside him with our legs grazing and his arm stretched behind me as he leans on it, into me. I uncurl the fingers of my left hand and show him the mockingjay pin. He picks it up with his free hand and examines it the way I had when Cinna gave it to me earlier. I can see in his eyes that he recognises it as the one I wore. "I want you to wear it as your token, like I did. I want there to be a piece of our home with you in there, a piece of me," I say with a thick voice. The burning tears are more prominent now and I want so badly to be rid of them, to be rid of this awful pain that is permeating through my chest, but I refuse to fall apart in front of Peeta. He needs to be strong, I need to be strong for him.

He looks at me speculatively and I know he wants to reject the gift, that he thinks it's too much, but he remains quiet and then his eyelids flutter close and I find myself entranced as a shimmering tear drops down from beneath his lashes. I reach forward and wipe it away the way he had with mine and he traps my hand against his cheek with his own, leaning into my palm.

When he lets me pull away, I take the pin from his fingers and fasten it to his shirt. I know he won't be wearing this one into the arena, but I also know Portia will ensure it's placed on his arena outfit. Once I have it stabbed through the grey cotton and clipped into place directly above his strong heart, I run my fingers over the golden songbird. Peeta's hand slides over mine and presses down so I can feel the rapid drumming of his most vital organ beneath. I revel in its strength and its' firm beats, its' liveliness.

"It belongs to you, Katniss. Always has and always will," he murmurs and leans down to kiss me. Our hands are still on his chest and he's once more trapped me, but I don't struggle against him. I submit myself to him, to his pliant though demanding lips as they devour me. We break for air and I know there will only be one more kiss after this that we share before he is taken away. That fact leaves a stinging pain in my heart. "I love you."

I lean forward and rest my forehead against his and repeat the words one last time. "I love you." I inhale deeply and before I can stop it, words are flowing freely and without filter. "Don't let them take you away from me. I'll be here waiting for you, Peeta, with open arms. You will come back to me,” I whisper vehemently, my voice rising with emotion and I start to wonder if I've lost my mind already. Then his lips are back on me and I know I haven't. I know I'm still here and so is he, if only just for this moment. He releases me from the passionate hold of his lips and we stare at each other for what seems like a lifetime. "Stay with me?" I ask, pleading.

"Always," he answers with a smile.

**//**

**//**

Once the door shuts, I break apart. All parts of my flimsy strength crash to the floor as the tears break free of the dam that has kept them at bay. Salt is flooding my mouth and blurring my vision but I don't care. I collapse in a heap on the still rumpled bed and shroud myself in him as I bury my face into his pillow. Already the room is too empty, the ache in my chest too painful, the feeling of my body too hollow, and the fairness of this situation too obsolete.

It's only been three minutes at most and I am bawling. I can feel myself breaking. I miss him desperately and already feel as though I haven't seen him in an eternity. Or possibly twelve. His laughter is ringing in my ears, his words of devotion strumming across my heartstrings, but his warmth's leaving my body. I'm so utterly cold; I've never felt so devoid of heat in all my years struggling to attain it for me and my family. The vast grey blanket of the sky isn't helping matters any either, but only contributing to a bleak and heartbreaking day. A day that is merely the preface to the unbearable weeks ahead.

I blindly reach down and grab the thick and plush comforter that had been kicked down the bed, pulling it up to my chin as I curl into a ball. My tears are relentless and there's a pool of wetness spreading across the soft pillowcase, but the feel of it against my face only furthers my pain and my eyes seem to push out more liquid.

Sleepiness is settling over me, my bleary and red eyes slowly begin to shut to keep out the stinging irritation crying has brought upon them, my muscles release the tension that had seized them as my body had been wracked with sobs. Sweet oblivious serenity washes over me and I feel as though I'm falling as I give into the need to shut down. To take a respite.

My dreams are an amorphous blob of colour for quite a long time, maybe even years or centuries, until an expanse of glimmering grey takes corporeal forms. The shadowy silver begins transforming into a sunny, arid place that is so hot that I feel like I can't breathe. Sand is blowing all around and scratching at my flesh and eyes with its rough tongues. I take a step forward to try to escape the dusty orange and brown clutches of my unreal captor and smack into a figure that hadn't been there seconds earlier. A scream works its' way up my throat, but it dies off as soon as I feel his too familiar hands caressing my now naked body. I sigh in comfort and joy that he's with me, but a screaming voice in the back of my mind is telling me there is something wrong. Something off about him. My suspicions are confirmed when I feel his hands tighten painfully around my arms, enough to leave marks.

"Peeta?" I ask, looking up at him.

His eyes find mine, but they're wild and unfocused, I can see an undercurrent of rage and pure fury lying in their icy blue depths. Icy blue. I never thought I would be able to describe Peeta's warm and carefree eyes that way, but now they looked so murderous and cold. It terrifies me. Terrifies me more than anything I have ever seen or experienced. He stares at me for a while before something flashes inside him and recognition takes over. "Run," he demands in a rough voice and pushes me away.

I open my mouth to tell him I would never leave him, but I can't find my voice and he's running in the opposite direction. Away from me. I turn to see what's around me aside from the blistering heat and sand dunes and find myself gazing into a field full of dandelions. Everywhere my eyes look, there's gold weeds. The same ones that sprouted the day after an eleven year old Peeta saved me and mine from starvation. The sight fills me with the same feeling I had then: hope.

"Katniss, are you ready?"

I turn and find Haymitch looking at me with a mixed expression of impatience and happiness. His grey eyes run over me and a smile lights up his face and I suddenly remember that I'm naked. I move my hands to shield myself and that's when I feel that, no, I am not bare. I am swathed in silky cotton. I tilt my head down and feel my jaw fall open in shock and wonder. I'm in a dress I had only ever seen glimpses of in person and other than that, only saw worn by my mother in old pictures. Vintage white, her wedding dress.

Glancing around again, I notice that off in the distance there is a small gathering and among the many dark haired guests, I can make out a bright spot of blond waiting at the makeshift altar. Peeta. Jubilation fills me when I think about marrying the boy with the bread in a field of dandelions and a smile stretches across my face. This is by far the greatest adventure of my life.

I take Haymitch's offered hand and allow him to walk me towards the crowd and then slowly he guides me down the long aisle. Grey is piercing blue as Peeta and I stare at each other while I make my way to him, to where we will pledge ourselves. A flicker of white catches my eye and I stop long enough to see a single white rose growing in the midst of the golden, flowering weeds surrounding it. I bend down and grasp its' stem and pluck it from the earth, raising it to my nose and inhaling deeply. I immediately throw the rose away from me and fight off the need to gag, the need to release the bile crawling along my throat. It's synthetic and vaguely familiar, but whatever it is about that pure rose that I've encountered before, it isn't pleasant.

I once again begin my trek to where Peeta is standing in some worn looking dress clothes. The pale slate colour of his oxford sets off his eyes and they twinkle in the bright sunlight, once again taking on that beautiful glowing quality. He's smiling at me and it's breathtaking and heartbreaking and all those things I never thought could describe a simple action or thing such as a smile, but Peeta is just beauty in male form and I find that I may actually be slightly jealous. Not because he's better looking than me, but because I can't pull off the things he does. I can't smile and dazzle a person or shake my hair out of my eyes and leave a person gasping in desire. He can and he exploits it over me and pretty much everyone else we come in contact with. Whether he does it knowingly, purposefully, or out of habit and doesn't realise, I'll never know.

As I reach him, his hand darts out to take mine and he gives Haymitch a silent nod of appreciation. We turn to Cray, the head Peacekeeper, who will conduct the ceremony. He launches into what love is and how it brings people together in even the worst and darkest places. Real and genuine happiness fills my body, races through my veins, as I think about the life Peeta and I will have together after this. How our love will only grow in strength. And how he will be mine and mine alone.

When Cray tells us it's time to recite our vows, Peeta and I turn to face each other. His grip on my hand is painful like the way he grabbed me in the desert and I look down where we're joined with a frown as I feel coldness spreading across his palm. Looking back up, my eyes widen in terror and a scream rips apart my vocal chords as I watch the unmistakable red stain of blood spread over his abdomen and watch his face go pale, eyes rolling back. He drops to the ground and shock fills me as I see the leering form of President Snow step up from his kneeling position, blade in hand. He moves closer and closer to me and just as he is about to run me through with the same knife, the same glinting steel blade that took the life of my only love, I feel myself begin to shake and hear an echo of my name rumbling in my ears.

"Katniss!"

"Katniss! Wake up!"

My eyes snap open and the worried faces of Haymitch, Effie, and even Finnick cross into my field of vision. I can tell from the way that they're all circled around me and the placement of Finnick's hands on my legs, pinning them down, that I had been screaming and thrashing in my sleep. There are, again, more tears raining down my face and they increase in frequency as the images of the dreamland I just came from filter through my mind.

I don't get a chance to open my mouth and apologise, or even feel sheepish for putting all three of them in this position before the sound of the television invades the room and Claudius Templesmith's voice begins counting down. I sit up in the bed as the others sit down and we all stare at the screen and I groan at the sight of the vast body of water the tributes have been lifted into. 

Not many people from the mining district know how to swim.

**39**

**38**

**37**

There are two plates to each long wooden structure that the tributes have been risen to stand on and my eyes automatically find Peeta's form. He's standing about six beams to the right and in a first place position, close to the island. I silently pray to whatever deity there is in the world that he can get away from any kind of danger and fast because I already can't stand seeing him out in the open and looking so vulnerable.

**5**

**4**

**3**

**2**

**1**

The gong sounds and then Claudius is introducing the start of Games. I watch as Peeta leaps forward into the clear blue water and feel surprise and relief flood all vessels of my body as I watch his body cut through the water.

"Damn." I hear Finnick swear under his breath. "Where does a kid from District 12 learn to swim like that?" he asks, turning to look at me.

I merely shrug in a non-committal answer. "He's a merchant. Maybe he has a big bath tub?"

**//**

**//**

Four.

Twenty.

Four days.

Twenty dead.

Four excruciating days.

Twenty innocent children dead.

The two numbers keep bouncing around in my head like a rubber ball that can't find a resting place and has nothing else to do than reverberate and reflect off walls and floors and ceilings. I absolutely do not like the odds right now. These Games are going too fast. Much too fast and I have no idea if I'm going crazy because Peeta is now in the last four and has done some killing to get there or if it's because he's injured. Badly. I'm leaning towards the latter, because I'm a murderer now too and not so sold on the notion of being a hypocrite. I am worried though. Not only about the wound he's contracted but also about the break in his mental psyche that I know taking a life can cause.

I've been trying to get sponsors to rally together and produce enough money to send Peeta the medicine he needs to heal the cut that he's sustained to his leg, but it's expensive. Very expensive. And apparently, they were more inclined to watch him die from infection. I wasn't sure if he knew it, but he was on the fast track of dying from blood poisoning. He had done what he could with what little he had, but it's still looking grim. As he was one of the first to reach the Cornucopia due to his surprise swimming skills, Peeta had been able to procure a pack and weapon. His pack held a first aid kit, rope, a sleeping bag, and some dried beef strips, and even a spile to tap the trees for water. His quick feet and unimaginable luck landed him with a sword that he was actually pretty handy with.

Not everyone was nearly so lucky though, because as he vanished off into the jungle, the bloodbath began and Careers began cutting down everyone and everything in their path. Well, they killed the ones that had been able to reach the island without drowning. Twelve tributes, including the female from my district, Delly, had died in the water and the other eight had been slain by the hands of their friendly neighborhood killers. Peeta had his hand in killing one of them, a Career called Roma from District 1. In return, her male counterpart, Slender, had struck a blow to his leg with a spear.

All of this had transpired in the first two days and in the next two, including today, nothing more exciting has happened except for one or two deaths. I can feel that the Gamemakers were about to interfere due to Capitol boredom and can only hope beyond logic and grace that it isn't anything too horrible. Hope that it won't bring Peeta's end.

"What's the word, hummingbird?" Finnick's voice sounds as he enters the vast sitting room of the twelfth floor – my district's floor - where I've created a makeshift nest to watch the Games play out on the television. He's been showing up here to watch the Games with me almost every day and there's a part of me that is more than grateful to have him, but another part feels guilty that I'm keeping him from Annie.

I crack a small smile at his lean form as he falls against the couch next to me, arm flying behind me to lay across the back of the framework. "They're recapping the past couple of major events and just showing where the tributes are scattered and hidden," I answer and look back to the screen, waiting for the Gamemakers to reveal Peeta to my needy eyes. When they do, I see that he's camouflaged himself into the sand of the beach shore. It's actually a pretty genius hiding spot because he's so out in the open that no one will think to look for him there and yet so well hidden by his blending skills that he can't be seen if a tribute strolls by. However, I can tell he's worse than before in terms of pain and illness and it sends a jolt of rage and pain through my chest. Rage that I can't help him, that the sponsors refuse to send him anything, and pain at seeing him so close to death.

"He doesn't look too great," comments Finnick, echoing my thoughts.

"Not at all."

"And the sponsors won't lend a cash clenched fist?"

"Nope."

He sighs and I turn to look at him and find that he looks like he's had as much sleep about as much as I have in the past week, which is practically none. There's dark circles under his eyes, stubble along his jaw, and his copper toned hair is sticking up every which way. I idly wonder if I look like him, but know that I don't because I could never make sleepy, irritated, and half insane look nearly as attractive as Finnick Odair. He really was much too pretty for anyone's health.

"I don't understand something though. They say his medicine, a small syringe with just one dose of antibiotics, is too expensive to send into the arena, but when you were there for your Games, you were sent a gigantic silver trident. How does that even work?" I rant at him as I bring my legs up to my chest and fold my arms around them. It really didn't seem fair to me.

Finnick shrugs and shakes his head. "You forget, pretty kitty, I'm Finnick Odair," he answers with a cocky grin and shining seaweed eyes.

I blink a few times, staring at him with an expressionless face. "Is that supposed to mean something?" I finally ask flatly, sarcastically. I'm really just playing with him, something I found distracts me from my inner woes much better than Haymitch's liquor – an experiment I'll never repeat again unless I truly fancy another visit to the porcelain bowl of my toilet, face first.

"It means everything."

I roll my eyes at his vanity. It was all such a joke that sometimes it wasn't even funny. I knew he had to maintain his image for the eyes of the Capitol because Snow whored him out to whoever would spend the most money and though he didn't do it any more, Finnick's looks gave him an insane advantage over almost everyone because they would spill all their secrets to have even an ounce of his godly attention. In his own right, the man was a genius. When he was in the Games at the mere age of fourteen, he not only had his strength, but his looks and charisma. He, like Peeta, could manipulate language into fluid and have you slipping into his grasp before you could blink.

"Oh, oh!" I exclaim as it slowly begins to dawn on me; the ripe birth of an idea. I lean forward, dropping my arms to my sides and pushing my legs back down into the plush carpet as I turn my body to Finnick. I grab his arm, my hand laying against the rope of firm muscle that lay just beneath his golden skin, and widen my eyes at him as the idea presents itself. "You're Finnick Odair!" I shout in sheer excitement.

He eyes me slowly, cautiously, like he's afraid I may lose it right there in front of him. "Yes. And you're Katniss Everdeen. Can we play a different game now?" he responds with a furrowed brow and worried voice.

I shake my head at him because he obviously doesn't get it and try to explain it to him. "You are the shining definition of sex and want, you could get Peeta the sponsors he needs. You could sway them out of their money and he could get his medicine." I rush out, a smile lining my face as I cling to one last hope because Finnick could do this. I just know he could.

"Thanks for the compliments, Kat, but do you understand what this will do?" My hope falters at Finnick's tone and the fallen expression on his handsome face. Why isn't he excited? Why isn't he running down into the streets of the city and putting this together for me like I would for him?

"It will save his life. You could very well be what is standing between Peeta and death. You could save him."

"Seriously, do you understand what you're asking will look like a rebellion in the eyes of Snow?"

"Do you understand that I don't care?"

He's silent then, out of witty retorts or questions he knows will only be met with my defiant answers. I can see the gears turning in his head, see that he is coming to the realisation that I am gravely serious and that I may not forgive him for not doing to this. "This is impossible," he mutters and a hand shoots through his hair, pulling at the ends painfully.

"Finn, what if it was Annie?"

"It isn't though."

"I know, but what if it was her. Would you leave her to die in that awful place, in such a painful way that it's inhumane?" I reach out and grab his hand in mine and bore my eyes into his, pleading. "What would you do if this were her?" I ask softly, tearfully, and hating myself for pulling this trump, for lording his love over him. 

His answer is so low that I almost don't catch it. Almost.

"I'd start an uprising before I let her die," he whispers. "I'll see what I can do, Kat, but I won't make any promises." I pull him to me and wrap him up in a tight hug, spewing words of gratitude all the while. I'm fighting to keep my tears at bay when I pull back and he smiles sadly at me, knowingly. He shoves off the couch and starts to walk out of the room. "And hey, Katniss, I told you that you'd fall for that boy." He grins and shoots me a wink before disappearing into the hall.

I exhale a sigh of relief and slump back against the couch with a short laugh. Part of me knows that it's foolish to pin so many hopes to this one man, this one minor possibility, but I can't help it. Peeta's life means so much more to me than anything any more and it seemed too weird and almost unreal to me that he had just become such a key person in my life in only the past few days. Granted, I firmly believe that my feelings began developing years ago in a rainstorm, but some would look at our relationship and find it unorthodox. Too rushed. Too faked. I frown at that lost thought, but decide against dwelling on it.

Sitting in this room is honestly beginning to drive me insane and I figure that since Caesar Flickerman, Claudius Templesmith, and Plutarch Heavensbee, the newest Head Gamemaker, were still recapping the Games' events over the past four days and I've been present for every second, minute, and hour, it couldn't hurt to go take a bath. I haven't showered or anything since this all started, so four days ago, and I haven't taken an actual bath in much longer. Not since we lived in our original house in the Seam. I think taking one now in the swimming pool sized bath tub in my en-suite will prove to be relaxing.

With a deranged determination to indeed bathe, I pull myself away from the sitting room and down the hall to my room. I gulp at the stillness that lingers inside, the evidence that I haven't been in here since that morning before Peeta left. It's nearly suffocating. I move about the room, ripping clothes from my body and walk into the bathroom to program the tub before leaving again. I know it's moot to even consider getting my mind off the Games and Peeta and now Finnick possibly sealing his fate, so I rummage through drawers of my dresser until I find the severed piece of rope Finnick gave me a long time ago. He insisted that tying knots would help distract me long enough to keep myself together and though I thought he was mad at the time it has actually come in handy. I close my fingers around the rough length and return to the lavatory.

As soon as my body slides into the warm and bubbly essence of the water, a contented moan rips free from my throat. If Peeta were with me, it may have been one of happiness or even arousal, but that isn't the reality I live in. For now, at least. I relax into the frothy water and lean back against the metal of the tub, letting my head loll back as my hands begin fastening knots in my length of rope blindly.

My thoughts, shockingly, turn towards Finnick's words of how our rousing sponsors as a team would speak of rebellion. Did he really believe that? And was it actually something that could happen? Would Snow, that evil man who had come into power in such devious ways, come after me and maybe even Finnick for doing this? If so, what did that entail? I had no more family for him to toy with and take away from me. Was he going to kill Peeta? He was already halfway there. But Finnick. . . he had Annie. Sweet Annie who has been through so much as it is because of the mental damage her own Games did to her. She was a constant joke in the Capitol; the loon from the seafaring district. Would Snow take her away from Finnick for helping me?

I could only hope not, or else I may just begin that revolution and see to it that the president met his end at my hand.

**//**

**//**

I am going to murder Finnick Odair. It's really that simple.

First, he barges into my bathroom whilst I'm bathing - not that him seeing me naked is something I minded, but he just had to crack jokes about it the whole time - then, and in concurrence to him walking in on me, my rope was lost to the world as it slithered down the drain, but I could get a new piece without a problem, so that didn't actually bug me all too much either. No, it was this last thing he did that had me planning his long and drawn out murder. He couldn't get the sponsors to actually agree on anything other than meeting with me and hearing my plea for Peeta. He assured me, after I went into a ballistic panic about how Peeta was most likely going to die because I don't know how to get sponsors to like me, that if they agreed against saving him that he had enough secrets and dirt on them all that he could blackmail them into saying yes.

So, maybe, I wouldn't kill him. But I'm still properly cross that I had to make myself presentable and come up with something moving to say to random strangers who would more-or-less decide the man I love's fate. It's irritating at best and I haven't ever been graced with the skill of making any form of public appearance, including small crowds. Finnick invited Haymitch, Cinna, Effie, anyone he knew I knew to 'see the show' and their presence isn't exactly what I could call calming. If anything, knowing my mentor, escort, and stylist are here only added to my nerves and I'm fairly certain Finnick knows as much too.

So here I am, Katniss Everdeen - the Girl on Fire - standing in a room full of expectant faces and I'm already tongue-tied. What am I expected to say to these people to get them to donate money for medicine without making too much of a scandal and dooming us all to the wrath of our dictator? The truth? Some may go for my love of Peeta, but I'm not too keen on showcasing my emotions and making a bigger spectacle of our relationship. It does, however, seem like my only angle because, really, these people wouldn't care one bit if he died when it's for their entertainment.

"Ahem," I clear my throat and gain the attention of the few that were talking amongst themselves. "We all know why we're here. Peeta Mellark, the boy tribute from my district, has contracted blood poisoning from a deep cut and I want to help him. To do so, I need your help, need your pocketbooks." I look around at the thirteen faceless Capitol dolls staring at me. "I know what I'm asking for is steep and that you don't know me or him, but I can assure all of you that this investment would not go in vain or overlooked. Peeta is the love of my life and it seems silly for me to be up here begging strangers for the life of a boy whom, I assume most of you think, is the other side of a romantic fling and will surely be tossed away later. That isn't the case in this instance. I can't fathom a life without Peeta, a life without his love.

Years ago, when we were only eleven, this boy reached out and showed me, a stranger, the utmost kindness and saved my life as well as my family's. We were starving and he put himself at the risk simply assure that I survived. He didn't know me, not personally. Yet he saved my life because he felt the need to see me go on for another day. He was eleven. You, all of you, are older and far more wiser. Couldn't you find it in yourselves to bestow that same touch of kindness? I know that District 12 isn't an ideal district to sponsor and that you're essentially District 4 sponsors, but could you not spare his life? I'm sure I seem desperate with the way I'm coming to you like this, but I want you to imagine something for me. I want to imagine your husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, daughter, son, whoever it is you love the most dying of this horrific disease. Would you be any different? Would you not do whatever you could to ensure their safety? That's all I have to say."

I take a deep breath and smooth down my shirt before looking into each face that surrounds me and making my way to sit down between Cinna and Haymitch, Finnick standing behind me. Everyone is silent and I can see pained expressions on many of their faces and the others had thoughtful looks riding their features. Maybe, just maybe, I could make this work.

"And here I thought you had no charm. Ha," Haymitch murmurs before taking a draw from his flask. "You could have charmed them straight out of their pants there, sweetheart," he continues and gives me an obnoxious thumbs up.

"Thanks, but I think they can keep their pants on. I'm not sure my eyes can handle that."

"And, little miss fire here, likes taking her own pants off better anyway," Finnick chimes in, his voice teasing and haughty as he sucks on a sugar cube. He leans in closer to me, his lips just hovering above mine and the sweet scent of his breath fans over me. "Isn't that right, kitty Kat?"

I scowl at him and shove him away from me. The absolute last thing I need is for the possible sponsors to think there is something going on between Finnick and I. "Whatever, Finn. A handful of people have seen me bare all. How many have seen you? Over a hundred? Hm, yes, I'm obviously the one that likes taking my pants off," I bite back.

There's a flash of hurt in his eyes, but he masks it because he knows I'm not referring to his days of being a call-boy, but rather his whole image in general. "Touché," he answers and pops another cube into his mouth, giving me a wink as he does so, before leaning back up against the wall.

I really want to shout something else at him, but control myself. I choose, instead, to watch as the people around us all start discussing saving Peeta's life. Some shoot glares and glances at me, others just whisper with each other. Either is fine with me just so long as they're talking. Finally, after what seems hours and was likely only minutes, an older gentleman in a lemon yellow suit stands up.

"We have all agreed that the boy should live, so long as you swear to forever stand by him should he make it out alive," he says in a gravelly voice that reminds me of rocks crunching and grinding together as they're stepped on.

Seriously? That's the condition? Just be with Peeta and they'll save him. I could do that in my sleep. Hell, I do actually do that in my sleep. I nod my head vigorously and smile in amazement. "Thank you so much. Of course I'll stand with Peeta for the remainder of his and my life. There's no need to even question that. Thank you, you've no idea what you're doing for me," I say and I don't stop the tears of joy and wonderment from flowing down my cheeks. I want them all to see just how ecstatic I am.

Each person, all thirteen, come up to me and hug me as they hand Effie the money they're donating. In the end, we've more than enough for Peeta's medicine and I feel my heart take flight with relief.

My boy is going to live.

We don't celebrate. We gather the funds and go to purchase the antibiotics to take to Game Command where the Gamemakers will put the syringe in a pack and place the pack in a silver parachute that will be dropped down to exactly where Peeta is. He'll then be saved. Cured. Alive. He'll be one step closer to being brought home to me.

When we enter Game Command, a shiver runs down my spine at the cold and sterile environment as well as seeing the Gamemakers manipulate the arena like it was, in fact, a game. Each of them have a pensive and cold look to their hard faces and it makes me feel like I'm in my own Games and fighting to the death again. These monsters created my nightmares, took my best friend, are trying to take my boyfriend. I wish I could place them in their precious arenas, watch them suffer the same brutality we tributes face. I bet they wouldn't last five minutes.

Plutarch spies us and welcomes us but Haymitch doesn't waste time with any formalities and shoves the syringe into his chubby hands, demanding it be sent to Peeta. I tune out as they begin arguing, Plutarch claiming there needs to be a formal order and such while Haymitch just slurs at him to send the damned thing. I look around and eye the controls speculatively, curiously. What must it be like to sit here and decide the fate of twenty-four children? Are you allowed to have a heart? I'm guessing no. I find myself, again, seething at the Gamemakers, but push it all away and just look rather than think.

That's when I hear it.

The clue to saving Peeta Mellark's life.

One of the Makers call out that the arena this year is going to be transformed into a clock of terror, with a new horror striking every hour for an hour and in different sections of the island. This is their way of satisfying their thirst for entertainment. Sick bastards. But it does give me an idea and I grab one of the cards that almost always accompany parachutes and write two simple words in my careful handwriting. I attach it to the silver chute that Haymitch has now ensured is going to be sent in and watch as Plutarch himself throws the parachute into the simulator.

I quickly turn to look at a screen and see that they are showing Peeta receive his gift. It floats down to where he is hidden in the sand and he unearths himself enough to grab for it and open it. His eyes widen when he sees what's inside, but he jabs the needle into his arm without hesitation or question. After he's flung the glass phial away from him, his blue eyes land on my card and I see his lips move as he reads the words.

_Tick tock_.

**//**

**//**

There's only two of them left alive now. Peeta and the guy from 1 that stabbed him, Slender. It's been nearly a week since I cured Peeta and warned him about the arena. It took him a while, but he caught on and began moving from section to section as the hours ticked by. I'm not sure how Slender has managed to stay alive, but he also seems to have figured out the clock. What he doesn't know and what gives Peeta and advantage, is what is in the hours of the clock. Peeta knows most. He knows of the Jabberjays, the monkey mutts, the wave, the beast, the acid fog, and the lightning storm and blood rain. He knows all of these things and in which hour they take place. He knows when to steer clear of an area of the island and Slender doesn't. I hope that this leads to an easy death of the wretch and a victory for Peeta without any more blood to stain his hands.

Snow isn't happy with me. He came to see me two days ago about my so-called stunt with the sponsors. I had just gotten back to my floor from visiting Annie and Finnick on the fourth floor; they were telling me she's pregnant and I was fussing over what a lovely and beautiful baby they were going to have, when I stepped into my assigned room and found him waiting for me. His hands were clasped behind his back and he was staring out the window, looking at the city. As soon as he heard the click of the door shut, he began speaking.

"Miss Everdeen, you've kept me waiting."

I bit back the snort that wanted to be released at his one and only comment thus far. "I'm sorry I didn't clear my schedule with you."

He coughed slightly and brought his handkerchief to his mouth to wipe away the blood from his overly plump lips. He had been coughing blood for years now, according to Finnick and his customers, because he had poisoned men to get to power and had risked his own death by ingesting some of the toxins so as not to cause suspicion. It was really on a matter of time before the poison overtook what was left of his tarnished heart. "No matter, no matter," he said, still looking out of the window. "I know what you did with the sponsors of District 4, Katniss."

I mentally cringed at the way he pronounced my name, like a caress. It doesn't sound right in his mouth by any means. I stared at his combed back white hair and plum suit and decided that this man is a cowardly murderer and that I desperately want him out of my sight before I strangle him. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, sir. There is no rule that signifies a sponsor is limited to a certain district. I merely asked for help and it was graciously given," I responded with a cold, clipped voice. I knew I'd been pushing my limits and, quite frankly, I couldn't have given one care about it. He's a disturbance to my life, a cancer, and I wanted him to know it.

"No, I suppose there isn't and I should also thank you for pointing that out so that I may correct my flaw."

I didn't respond, just glared at the back of his head.

He took my silence as a prompt and continues speaking as though there weren't a thick tension in the air. "That stunt could incite a rebellion, I'm sure you know. I wouldn't want to think you're undermining my authority and certainly not in the heart of my city. But one can't help but wonder if you are, indeed, planning something in that pretty head of yours."

"I can assure you, Mr. President, that if I were planning an uprising against you, it would not be in your city, but as it is, I am not planning anything other than how to safely bring home Peeta Mellark. If you choose not to believe me, it isn't necessarily my fault or problem because I can't control your beliefs or opinions. Now, if you will excuse me, I'd like to take a shower."

He turned around then and stared at me with his snakelike eyes. "I do believe you, Miss Everdeen. I know you wouldn't dare lie to me with your boyfriend's life hanging in the balance," he hissed and strode forward to march out of the room, but stopped to take the rose from his lapel and twine it in my hair, tucked behind my ear. As he left, the smell of the white rose assaulted my senses and I immediately recognised it as the one from my wedding nightmare.

I haven't left my room since that day. Afraid that if I do, I'll be taken into custody by the Peacekeepers for some unknown reason that will come out as heresy. I know that as long as I am in the Capitol I am being watched and it makes my skin crawl. But I can't bring myself to regret my actions, because I've saved Peeta and that's worth becoming the president's top enemy.

There's a sense of finality lingering in my body as I watch the screen, watch the Games as they unfold. I have a feeling I could be seeing Peeta tonight. I just cling to the hope that it won't be in a body bag. So, realistically, I've been glued to the television and absolutely humming with anxiety. Even the sky, which is again grey and bleak and has torrents of rain streaming from its clouds, seems to be reflecting the atmosphere of the twelfth floor.

The only scenes that are really being shown is Peeta and Slender both making their way through the jungle off and on throughout the day and for a while, I was beginning to doubt the feeling that had seized my chest. That is, until Slender caught up with Peeta in the ten o'clock section on the shore of the beach somewhere in the middle of the night. I perk up and move closer to the screen, fingers at my mouth as I gnaw on what is left of my nails.

My bedroom door bursts open and Haymitch is standing there along with Effie and I just nod at them, telling them they can come in. They do and both sit on either side of me, hands soothing down my back as we all stare at the television in anticipation, waiting to see what happens next. I feel my heartbeat increase, fluttering against my ribcage like that of a bird's wing, and a cool sweat breaks out along my brow. This just can't go wrong.

Slender pulls his sword and slashes out toward Peeta, but Peeta's fast and rolls out of the way. I find myself impressed that he can manoeuvre in combat so well with his injury still not fully healed. Peeta grabs for his own weapon and the two blades clang together with the screeching sound of metal grinding against metal. I watch as the muscles in both boys tense and they press harder against each other, but Peeta's leg buckles and he gives way and allows Slender's blade to find purchase in his side, leaving a trail of scarlet in its wake. I grab both my escort's and my mentor's hands tightly in mine as I watch and hear Peeta cry out in pain, see the muscles in his jaw clench as he fights against the pain and tears.

I gasp and look away, closing my eyes tightly shut. My chest is heaving and I slowly come to the realisation that I'm sobbing and loudly. I'm wailing and murmuring a string of words of how unfair it is to be forced to watch this, to have to watch him get hurt twice and not be able to do anything about it. A gloomy place deep inside me begins whispering that he'll die and leave me to rot by myself, shatters with resignation that this is what will what become of my life.

"He's getting back up, sweetheart," says Haymitch and I turn back to the screen to see that he's right. Peeta is struggling back up to his feet and slinging his blade at Slender with his unharmed side and arm.

"He's strong, that one," Effie sighs and strokes my hair idly. I can tell she's nervous.

Silence falls on us again as we watch the fight carry on. Peeta and Slender both seem to be evenly matched up until Slender's sword flies from his hand and launches his body at Peeta. I know Peeta's strong, though, from years of having to lift hundred pound bags of flour and he had come in second in the wrestling tournament. Just as I suspected, Peeta overpowers the Career and he looks over his shoulder at something in the distance, listening. In a flash, Peeta's running toward whatever it is and Slender's not far behind him.

Confusion clouds my features and mind as I see Peeta crouch behind a large boulder on the edge of the jungle that lines the edge of the shore. He watches for Slender and as the dark haired boy jets past him, Peeta jumps up and runs in the opposite direction without looking back. I frown as I try to decipher whatever it is the boy with the bread is up to when the screen cuts to where Slender is entering the jungle and a hoard a mutated monkeys are attacking him. They bite into his chest with razor sharp fangs and shred him down until there's barely anything left before they disappear back into the abyss of trees. There's an eerie silence that lasts for little more than a minute and then the cannon sounds, signalling the death of Slender.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may we present the victor of the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games, the District 12 tribute, Peeta Mellark!" booms Claudius Templesmith and the screen cuts to where Peeta has collapsed in the sand, hand clutching at his side.

**//**

**//**

"Do you remember when I asked you how to kill someone?"

I'm taken back by his question and take a sharp inhale of breath as I nod. "Of course. It was the first conversation we had," I answer with a cautious tone as I look at him. He doesn't seem in pain, but that could be because of the morphling that's running through his veins and I'm honestly wondering if that's what making him ask crazed questions.

He nods at my words, obviously expecting my answer to be a firm yes. "Well, do you remember what you said?"

"I vaguely remember coming up with an excuse about adrenaline or something. Why?"

"I should've asked what it takes because maybe then you could have prepared me for this," he answers solemnly and flicks his eyes up to the ceiling.

I stare at him for a good, long minute. I take in his mussed hair and chapped lips, his hospital gown and his IV. He looks so much like I did after I resurfaced from the arena; scarred, battered, broken. And he's right, I should have prepped him for not only this but the guilt of killing a person. A brother or sister, daughter or son. But I never even thought to because I didn't think - hoped he wouldn't - that he would have to kill anybody. It was stupid and foolish, of course, because these were the Games after all. They were designed for death and exploiting weakness.

"Prepared you for what?" I ask though I know the answer, but I just want to hear him talk. I'm terrified, secretly scared, that I'm losing him if I haven't already. He's so distant, so lost.

"Killing someone takes everything you have. You should have told me that, warned me. I wasn't prepared."

I hang my head and stifle the sound of my tears because he doesn't know that he's breaking my heart with every word he phrases. His voice is so cold and pained and it hurts to hear it. This, whoever is laying in front of me in this hospital bed, is not my Peeta. This is whatever took over him in the arena, whatever ate him from the inside out and stole him away into the darkness. I'm uncertain what it is, but I do know it isn't mine. It doesn't want to be.

We stay silent. I don't know what to say and he's just too bitter to talk to me. I haven't stopped crying, haven't looked up from the tiles of the hospital floor to show him what he's turned me into, what a mess his words have left me in. When I finally manage to move any muscle in my body, it's to pull my hands away from his. I had been clutching onto his hand with both of my own, but I don't want him to have to touch me right now. Not when he's blaming me.

The movement seems to disrupt him further and for a second I see a glimpse of fury in his eyes before they clear and the colour of warmed water appears. These are the eyes I'm accustomed to. These are my Peeta's eyes. I hope they are, anyway.

"Katniss?" he whispers. I can tell by the way he says it that he knows I'm crying even though my tears are raining silently. His hand reaches out and he puts two fingers under my chin to force my eyes to his and I see their softness has returned. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. I just - I never expected it to feel this awful," he explains and I let his words wash over me and blast away the glum feeling his previous ones left behind. I let him illuminate the darkness yet again.

"I love you," I whisper and press a kiss to the heart of his hand, holding it against my cheek.

A tear or two spring free of his own eyes and he nods his head and smiles. "I love you too." He brings me closer, using his hand that's cupping my face to guide me, and finally secures his lips to mine in a sweet kiss. His lips move over mine with a soft gentleness and I feel him smile against me as I sigh in happiness. I could spend forever kissing Peeta Mellark.

And I intend to.

\- Fin - 

**Author's Note:**

> Well this is the last bit of this, I do hope that anyone that bothered with reading it enjoyed it. I had fun writing it, a lot of fun actually. Anyhoot, I hope I didn't disappoint anyone too greatly. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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